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All Rise...

Appellate Judge Amanda DeWees is convinced that if more newspapers kept men like Spencer Tracy and William Powell on staff, there would be fewer lawsuits—and higher circulation.

The Charge

"You'd make your crippled grandmother do a fan dance for that
paper!"—Gladys to Warren

Opening Statement

Libeled Lady is like a comedy buffet. It features no less than four
great stars—Spencer Tracy, Jean Harlow, William Powell, and Myrna
Loy—and elements of all kinds of different comedy styles from the
fast-talking newspaper comedy to society comedy to slapstick to the kind of
marital muddle that prompts lines like "She may be his wife, but she's my
fiancée!" For those who like their laughs elegant, William Powell and
Myrna Loy (reunited in their first comedy since their hit The Thin Man) bring all the sophistication
one could wish for. For those who prefer earthier comedy, we get the blunt,
tough-talking Jean Harlow and Spencer Tracy. The combination results in an
outstanding comedy gem.

Facts of the Case

Here comes the bride…and she is miffed. Gladys Simpson (Jean
Harlow, Dinner at Eight) has been stood
up at the altar again by her newspaper editor fiancé, Warren Haggerty
(Spencer Tracy, Desk Set). When she
tracks him down at his office, she expects to be conciliated, to be appeased,
but especially to be married. She'll get the last of those wishes, at any rate,
but her husband won't be her fiancé, if you follow. It'll be ex-newspaper
man Bill Chandler (William Powell, My
Man Godfrey).

The problem is that Warren is in trouble. Heiress Connie Allenbury (Myrna
Loy, Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream
House) is suing the paper for printing a story that libelously claimed she
was a husband stealer. Unless Warren can make that claim a reality, the
newspaper will go under. His solution: Send in Bill Chandler, the best libel
operator in the business, to place Connie in a compromising position, and then
reveal that he's married. Hence Gladys as his wife—in name only, of
course, but Connie won't know that, and neither will the world at large.

Naturally, this brilliant plan doesn't proceed without a hitch. First Gladys
has to be persuaded to marry Bill, and that's not easy—to put it mildly.
Moreover, although Connie's angler father (Walter Connolly) takes a shine to
Bill, Connie is a tough nut to crack. On the other hand, Gladys, who
initially hated Bill, is beginning to appreciate his gentlemanly charm—a
little too much for Warren's comfort, in fact. Then Bill develops a strange
reluctance to spring the trap on Connie. If Warren expects to save his
newspaper—not to mention his engagement—he'll have to get mixed up
personally in these shenanigans.

The Evidence

With four terrific stars to anchor Libeled Lady, it's difficult to
know where to start discussing the acting, but I'm going to start with Myrna Loy
for the perfectly subjective reason that, among the four stars, she gets short
shrift in the packaging of this movie. She doesn't appear on a single one of the
menus, and that's just shameful. Classic movie fans will of course be familiar
with the delightful Miss Loy, who started out playing evil Orientals, progressed
to sophisticated comedy, and became both the crowned Queen of Hollywood and
America's image of the perfect wife due to her collaboration with William Powell
in the hit Thin Man mystery series. Her work in Libeled Lady shows
the qualities that made her ideal for this and other comedies. Loy's patrician
bearing and light, unstudied style of vocal delivery make her the perfect
embodiment of natural sophistication, but there's a warmth to her that makes us
believe she's a nice kid underneath. As Connie, she initially appears to be
exactly what the other characters believe her to be—a spoiled, wealthy
brat—who looks right through Chandler and treats him with offhand
contempt. But as soon as she makes her first, dry comedic thrust at him we
recognize her intelligence and her perception: It's not snobbery so much as her
B.S. meter that's prompting her to give him the glacial treatment. This moment
comes when they are dancing on board the ship where Chandler has managed to get
introduced to the Allenburys. "I'm afraid that dancing isn't exactly my
line," Bill apologizes, charmingly. "I should say it was part of your
line," is her deadpan response—and all of a sudden Connie becomes
someone we know we're going to like. She's speaking our language.

Connie's intelligence and skepticism forces Bill into an ingenious series of
ploys to try to get into her good graces and maneuver her into a situation in
which she can be framed as a husband stealer. As the ever-resourceful Bill,
Powell is in top form; he can rise to suave sophistication at the drop of a
banknote, yet there's a deliciously sneaky level always ready to surface. He
also excels in the serious moments that show Chandler reevaluating his
priorities as he begins to fall in love with Connie. Powell and Loy had worked
together in five films by this point, and their instinctive understanding of
each other's rhythm is evident; they work in a perfect harmony, even when their
characters are at odds. Powell also gets to pull the Connie Allenbury treatment
on Harlow, zinging cutting little putdowns at her—but then, when he wants
to recruit her to his side, winning her over with his suave charm. And, of
course, there's his great slapstick set piece: Since he has presented himself to
the Allenburys as a passionate angler, he has to put his money where his mouth
is and actually go fishing with them. His battle with nature will end up taxing
all his resourcefulness and overturning his usual elegance. It serves an
important function in the film by becoming a turning point in his acquaintance
with Connie, but simply in itself it's a great comic scene. From start to
finish, Powell's performance in Libeled Lady is one of his best.

Creating an enjoyable contrast to the duo of Powell and Loy is the embattled
relationship of Harlow and Tracy. Tracy, as Warren Haggerty, is exactly right as
the fast-talking newspaper man who will ruthlessly use his fiancée to suit
his needs but who gradually comes to realize that he actually does want to marry
her. Tracy is justly admired for his acting prowess in dramas, but let's not
forget that he was also a favorite in comedy, and he's as natural in the role of
Warren as in his own skin. Opposite this heavyweight, Harlow really gets to
shine as Gladys. Initially, when we see her in a shouting match with Warren,
there's nothing particularly special about her performance, but as the film
progresses her character and her performance both get to develop and grow in
complexity. Harlow is hilarious in her scenes as Powell's bride and antagonist,
even more so when they have to play the loving couple for onlookers, and
downright delightful as she starts to warm up to Bill for the simple reason that
he treats her like a gentleman, as Warren never has. She's also a very physical
character: Where others use words as warfare, Gladys's methods are more direct,
like throwing things and biting. We get to see both the brassy and the womanly
sides of Harlow's persona, and Gladys emerges as an outstanding character. The
wonderful Walter Connolly (Nothing Sacred) is also superb as the
seemingly crusty businessman who lights up like a Christmas tree when the
subject of trout fishing is introduced.

The screenplay on which these performances are based must definitely be
singled out. The snappy dialogue and endless succession of plot twists come
courtesy of Maurine Watkins (who wrote the original stage play Chicago),
Howard Emmett Rogers, and George Oppenheimer, who based their work on a story by
Wallace Sullivan. If the plot summary makes the film seem little different from
standard romantic comedies of the era, it's true that it's working in familiar
territory—but its treatment here is stellar, from the standout dialogue to
the eleventh-hour plot twists. Libeled Lady also makes the unusual and
even courageous move to omit a scene that we all sense is coming—the one
in which Connie confronts Bill about all the lies he's told her. The film just
sails right past that point, giving the characters credit for being grownups and
having sorted it out—and then launches us into a new and surprising set of
complications. It's an elegant variation on the usual comedy structure. Jack
Conway's direction creates an enjoyably fast pace and must be credited for
steering the actors into such deft performances; there's a lightness of touch to
the film that raises it above the level of lesser comedies. The famous MGM gloss
also enhances the experience, with handsome sets and some absolutely eye-popping
costumes for Harlow's character. (They are so extravagant that I can't help
wondering if one of Gladys's conditions for marrying Bill Chandler was a
complete new couture wardrobe.)

Picture quality for this delightful film is, I am sad to say, rather
disappointing. The bad news first: This print shows a lot of damage,
predominantly speckles (sometimes quite large ones) and scratches; at times the
vertical scratches are so persistent they give the appearance of rain falling
onto a scene. In this respect it looks very much like the version I recorded
during its cable broadcast. Perhaps a restoration would have been too costly an
endeavor for a modestly priced release, but I was really taken aback at how much
visual interference there is here. The good news is that there is fine contrast
and an attractive richness and depth to the black-and-white tones, and grain,
while present, is only intermittent. Audio, fortunately, is much cleaner than
video, with only rare instances of hiss or buzz, and in this film's many
rapid-fire dialogue sequences, the audio track acquits itself just fine.

Extras, sadly, are slender indeed. In the absence of a radio adaptation of
the film, the more usual accessory for Warner's classic releases, we get a bit
of an oddity: a 13-minute radio promotional spot about the film that features
audio clips from different scenes. It's cumbersomely long for an advertisement,
but not long or substantial enough to satisfy as entertainment; still, it's an
unusual bit of ephemera and offers a taste of the way the film was promoted. The
theatrical trailer, like the radio spot, makes much of the presence of four
stars (as why should it not?) and captures the film's sense of breezy
energy—but it also includes footage of a scene that isn't in the movie,
which is confusing.

Closing Statement

Libeled Lady deserves to be recognized as one of the best screwball
comedies of the 1930s, and this release should heighten awareness of this
wonderful comedy. Even though I disapprove of double-dipping on principle, I
can't help but hope that this increased exposure will evoke enough demand that
we will see a fully restored version released in the future, preferably with
some nifty supplementary material.

The Verdict

The charge of libel is hereby dismissed. Warner Bros. is guilty of serving up
a disappointing transfer and subpar extras for this release, but due to its
otherwise clean record, the sentence is suspended.